


That Old Black Magic

by Wife_of_Bath



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Falling In Love, Hickey gets a taste of his own medicine, Honestly this is more romantic than spooky, Hurt/Comfort, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, No Homophobia AU, OWOT2020, One Week of Terror (The Terror), Romantic Comedy, Witchcraft, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:16:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27145784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wife_of_Bath/pseuds/Wife_of_Bath
Summary: Attracted to his shy neighbor Billy Gibson, Cornelius Hickey devises a plan to win him over by sneaking him a love potion. That plan goes horribly awry when Hickey accidentally takes the love potion himself.Written for One Week of Terror prompt "Witchcraft."
Relationships: William Gibson/Cornelius Hickey
Comments: 5
Kudos: 12
Collections: One Week of Terror 2020





	That Old Black Magic

Cornelius Hickey was no stranger to the cold or wet, but it had been a long time since he had been this miserable. His rain-soaked shoes made a horrible squelching sound as he trudged his way back to his flat. He shivered at the sensation of water dripping off his upturned collar and running down the back of his neck. If he wanted, he could have conjured an umbrella or muttered a spell to make the rain fall anywhere but on him. He could have, but he did not want to, and he did not trust himself to concentrate enough to make any spell work effectively. All his thoughts centered on Billy. Billy, his tall, lanky neighbor who lived across the hall. Billy, who smiled and always said hello whenever they bumped into each other. Billy who had Hickey over for tea seven times in the last month. Billy who had quietly invited Hickey to dinner at Diggle and Wall that evening.

Billy who had bluntly turned Hickey down before the salad course was finished.

“It’s not that I’m uninterested, Cornelius,” he had said. “You’re very charming, and I like you.”

“But?”

“Mr. Irving does not approve of you.”

“Irving?” The feeling was mutual. Hickey had only met the sanctimonious ass once when Irving brought a tureen of soup for Billy while he was suffering from a nasty case of the flu. Hickey had taken one whiff and promptly poured it down the drain. It was not bad soup. It was clearly homemade and much better than what Hickey could do without magic. Hickey just preferred to nurse Billy back to health with his own concoctions. “And you’re so concerned about what Irving thinks?”

“He’s not just a friend, Cornelius. He’s my boss.” Billy did not want to be a secretary forever. He was ambitious. If he wanted to get anywhere in the bizarre and complicated world of Erebus & Terror Publishing, he needed to conduct himself in a manner his superiors approved of, and that included his personal life outside the office.

Everything had become a low buzzing noise in Hickey’s ears after that. While Billy was distracted with the waiter, Hickey had knocked over his water glass and made a hasty retreat, leaving Billy to take care of the rather large bill. They had made no agreement to split the cost. If Billy invited him, Billy could take care of it.

Water pooled on the floor as he stepped inside the flat. Hearing Hickey come in, his flatmate, Charles Frederick Des Voeux looked up from his incessant typing. He eyed Hickey from head to foot, his nose turning up in disgust. “You look like a drowned rat,” he remarked.

Pompous prick. With a flick of Hickey’s hand, Des Voeux was suddenly soaked to the skin. He jumped up with a yell, nearly knocking over his chair in his haste to avoid getting the pages of his half-written manuscript, _Secret Rituals of Ancient Magic_ , wet. Not that its loss would have been any great tragedy in Hickey’s opinion. Half of Des Voeux’s book was outright lies and the other half extremely misleading fictions. Hickey had to admit it was a clever way to get money out of gullible humans who would gobble up anything about magic as long as it was presented in a tantalizing package. Hickey just wished he had thought of it first.

“Very funny,” Des Voeux grumbled. He snapped his fingers to dry himself off. “I take it the evening with the delightful Mr. Gibson did not go as planned?”

Hickey pretended to smooth out the wrinkles in his now-dry coat. “No.”

“Well, I’m not surprised.” He returned to his typing. “As hard as it might be for you to believe, not everyone is going to fall down at your feet. Besides, you’d eventually have to tell him what you are, and he’d probably reject you then. Most ordinary people do.”

“Shut up.” Hickey lay on the small couch without bothering to take his shoes off. Des Voeux was wrong, and Hickey did not expect him to understand anyway. Des Voeux had not seen the soft look in Billy’s eyes as they had tea together or the way he had shyly taken Hickey’s hand after he had recovered from the flu. He did not know about the playful grin and flush of color in Billy’s cheeks when their feet brushed under the table. Billy was interested. He just did not want to do anything about it.

Hickey was not in love with Billy. Billy was a distraction, a mild infatuation at most. True, Hickey found him attractive, in his gangly, curly-haired, freckled way, and Billy was more astute than the average human. Being rejected hurt, but it was Hickey’s pride, not any tender feelings for his neighbor, that was bruised. He could not believe that Billy would prefer pleasing Irving, stupid, self-righteous, interfering Irving, to indulging in all the delights Hickey could give him. Billy was worried too much about what other people thought. That was the problem. He just needed a little push to forget about them and take what he really wanted.

“If you’re that lonely, why not the bloke across the street? He seems like someone you’d like.”

“Hmm,” Hickey murmured noncommittally. The ex-soldier—Tozer, Hickey thought his name was—did have a certain appeal, especially how he looked like he could fling Hickey over his shoulder and carry him off like a Viking warrior. Maybe if he had not already set his sights on Billy, he would consider it.

“Irving.”

Des Voeux frowned. “Who’s Irving?”

“The source of all my troubles. He doesn’t think I’m suitable for Billy.” Hickey had plans for Irving. He’d turn him into a toad, a nasty, warty, fat little toad that he’d keep in a glass terrarium next to the pickled toad parts he used in his potions so every day Irving would live in fear of the moment Hickey decided to carve up his little toad body and throw him into the cauldron.

Des Voeux smiled. “You know what would be fun? Give Irving a love potion. Make him fall in love with you and let him have a taste of his own medicine.”

Slowly, Hickey sat up. Sometimes, Des Voeux had rare flashes of brilliance. A love potion was perfect! Not for Irving, even though the prospect of Irving making a fool out of himself following Hickey around like a puppy was immensely tempting. Slipping a small dose in Billy’s tea would be just the hard shove he needed. Billy would be his, completely and utterly his, and nothing, especially no meddlesome bosses would get in his way.

Hickey climbed over the back of the couch to grab the first potion book he could get his hands on. “You’re not useless after all, Fred.”

Des Voeux’s fingers curled above the typewriter keys. “I told you never to call me that!”

Hickey smirked. It was Des Voeux’s own fault that he had been careless enough to let Hickey find out his full name, and Hickey enjoyed lording that knowledge over him every chance he got. Much smarter to use a false one like Hickey did to keep anyone from trying to gain power over him.

He dashed into the kitchen before Des Voeux could hex him. There was much work to do.

* * *

Some potions were delicate, intricate things that required days to prepare and took even longer to mature before they were ready. Hickey knew well the importance of biding his time waiting for the most opportune moment, but he had no use for patience tonight. He picked the first philter he spotted in the book, a quick and fairly simple mixture that promised immediate results. By midnight, he had it bottled and stoppered.

“How are you going to slip it to Irving?” Des Voeux asked. He picked up the potion book and began skimming the instructions.

“It’s not for Irving.” Hickey held the vial up to the ceiling light. He gave it an experimental little swirl. Everything looked normal.

“Are you sure that’s the potion you want to use?”

Hickey rolled his eyes. “Yes.” Slipping the bottle into his pocket, he plucked the book out of Des Voeux’s hands and headed straight to his room so he could plan his next move without Des Voeux trying to offer helpful tips.

One of the wonderful things about Billy was how punctual he was. He kept a tight schedule, which Hickey had taken advantage of for months to watch his comings and goings. At eight o’clock precisely, Billy left to go to work, neat as a pin. He always returned around six in the evening, still neat but looking drained from the long hours ferrying papers, phone calls, and cups of tea for the stuffed shirts at his office. Billy’s routine made it easy for Hickey to stage a chance meeting. He could not just linger outside Billy’s flat; he was sure Billy would slam the door in his face if he just walked up and knocked. It had to look accidental, like entering the building together or having to share the same lift. Anything to keep Billy from running away before Hickey could charm him into having a cup of tea.

He waited three days before springing his plan into action, long enough for Billy’s initial anger at Hickey bolting to fade but not long enough for that anger to turn into bitterness. It was a chilly October evening, and still raining, although the weather had let up about half an hour before Billy was scheduled to arrive. Wet leaves coated the pavement. Hickey smoked and lurked outside the small bookshop a few buildings away from his flat. As soon as he spotted Billy walking briskly, head down, hands in his pockets, Hickey flicked his cigarette aside and made his way toward him. He hastened his pace, careful not to slip on the slick leaves, so he could make it to the door before Billy’s long stride took him inside.

Just as he reached the building, Billy spotted him. He stopped, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“Hullo Billy.”

“Cornelius,” he replied coldly. He was still angry.

Hickey tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. “Listen, I’m sorry about the other night. I shouldn’t have run off like that.”

“No, you shouldn’t have. And it’s not just that you left me with the bill, which wasn’t easy to pay I should mention, but you left me alone. I know I told you something you didn’t want to hear, but we could have had a very nice evening regardless.”

“I know.” Hickey looked up at Billy with his best contrite expression. “Let me make it up to you? Tea?”

“And when you say ‘tea’, you mean my tea. In my flat.”

“No one makes tea like you, Billy.” Hickey grinned at the bemused resignation on Billy’s face as his better judgment valiantly fought a losing game.

“I must be mad letting you in,” he sighed. “All right, come on.”

Hickey ducked his head so Billy could not see the anticipation on his face. He motioned for Billy to lead the way. Normally, he would have preferred to go first, but he did not want Billy to suspect that he had any ulterior motives. Billy hesitated like he expected Hickey to pull some mischievous trick the second his back was turned. Satisfied he was not in immediate danger, he began to walk into the building. Hickey waited a minute before following him.

He was so focused watching Billy that he was not paying attention to where he stepped. His shoe slipped on the wet leaves, sending Hickey tumbling backward. He fell flat on his back, his head cracking against the pavement. Pain exploded inside his skull.

“Cornelius!” Billy knelt by his side in an instant. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

“My head,” he hissed. Stars danced behind his eyelids. He took a deep breath, trying to ground himself through the pain, but his head hurt too much. “I’m fine.”

“We should get you to a doctor.”

“No, no, just get me inside.”

Carefully, Billy helped him sit up. “Can you stand?” Hickey opened his eyes and immediately wished he hadn’t. The street bobbed up and down in front of him like waves. He swallowed against a surge of nausea.

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Shh, shh, easy.” Billy directed Hickey to put his arms around his neck. With one arm supporting Hickey’s back and the other under his knees, Billy hoisted Hickey up. He staggered a bit but held him securely. Hickey was impressed; Billy was stronger than he looked. If it weren’t for the splitting ache in his head, he would be enjoying this. Closing his eyes again, Hickey tucked his face into Billy’s shoulder. He breathed in the faint floral scent of the soap Billy used.

Hickey kept his eyes squeezed shut as Billy carried him into the lift. Billy tried not to jostle him, but every step sent sharp stabbing pains through Hickey’s skull. His eyes watered, but he refused to show how much it hurt.

“I need to call a doctor. You hit your head pretty hard.”

“No.” Hickey had no use for those pill pushers with their chemical compounds and invasive questions. Not when his remedies were just as good and usually worked faster too. “I’m fine,” he repeated. He raised his head to reassure Billy, but the movement made the small compartment of the lift tilt violently. He let out a low moan.

“Easy, easy. You’ll be all right,” Billy soothed. Hickey let his head fall back against Billy’s shoulder. It should not have felt so good being fussed over like a child, but Hickey liked it. He had been injured before, sometimes quite seriously, but he had learned years ago to seal his pain away so no one could take advantage of his weakness. The part of his mind not clouded by the pulsing throb in his head urged him to shove Billy away and stand on his own two feet, cracked skull be damned. But he did not want to move, and the sound of Billy’s soft voice was too comforting to ignore.

Somehow, Billy managed to pull open the lift door and maintain holding Hickey at the same time. He hurried to Hickey’s flat. “Can you get your key out for me?”

“Don’t have one.” No need for a key when he could lock and unlock the door with a wave of his hand.

“No key—is the door unlocked?”

“No.” Hickey did not even keep his own bedroom unlocked. Too many secrets, and he did not want Des Voeux prying.

“Is your flatmate home?”

“No.” That was a lie. Hickey knew Des Voeux was busy working on his book. He would sooner freeze himself in a block of ice than let Des Voeux see him like this, though.

“Cornelius…” Billy began, exasperated. “Fine. You can rest in my flat.” Hickey could have grinned in triumph if he did not feel so horrible.

It took a little fumbling with his keys, but Billy unlocked his flat and carried Hickey inside. They went straight to his bedroom, where Billy propped Hickey up on the bed and immediately began carding through his hair looking for the injury. Gradually, Hickey relaxed at the sensation of Billy’s gentle fingers in his hair. He did not want to open his eyes, but he could feel the warmth of Billy’s breath on his face as he examined him.

He winced when Billy brushed against a sensitive spot on the back of his head. “You’re not bleeding, but you’ll have a nasty bump on your head tomorrow.” Billy fluffed the pillow under Hickey’s head. “I’ll get you some ice and paracetamol.”

“I’ve already got something to take care of it. There’s a bottle in my coat. Right inside pocket.” Hickey always carried a healing potion hidden in his coat, just in case. He never knew whom he might run into on the street.

Billy fished the bottle out of his coat. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I promise it’s fine. Pull out the cork and give it to me.” Billy handed him the bottle. Hickey quickly knocked it back. It smelled of lavender and fresh linen and tasted like Earl Grey with lemon.

To his surprise, the ache in his head did not immediately disappear. Risking another rush of dizziness, he opened his eyes. Billy hovered a few inches away from him, his face drawn with concern. So close, Hickey could count the freckles dusted across Billy’s nose and lose himself in the pale green of his eyes. There was a strange tightness in his chest as everything around him seemed to disappear, and all he could focus on was Billy. Nothing else mattered as long as he could see Billy, touch him, be with him in every way imaginable. He was Billy’s, completely and utterly Billy’s.

Hickey’s eyes widened in realization. He stared at the bottle in his hand. “Oh fuck.”

**Author's Note:**

> My quest to mix The Terror with classic film continues! Like my other mash-up, this one is set in a fantasy 1950s, although the time period is a little more vaguely mid-century since I'm taking inspiration from _I Married a Witch_ (1942), _Bell, Book and Candle_ (1958), and _Bewitched_ (1964-72).
> 
> I admit, this fic stems purely from my desire to write a rom-com for Hickey and Gibson.
> 
> The title of the fic and the chapters all come from songs written in the 1940s-60s and is entirely the fault of [this vintage Halloween music playlist](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=srRgqb_1pGs), which I've been listening to pretty much nonstop since the beginning of October.
> 
> Don't do love potions, kids!


End file.
